


A Strange Arrangement of Days

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Amnesia, Blood and Injury, Demonic Possession, F/M, Heavy Angst, Horror, Magical Tattoos, Major character death - Freeform, Romance, Time Loop, Tragic Romance, but the context is there the whole time, except it's fall, hopefully it works, i know this is a mish mash of tropes, implied soulmates, including seeing a murder victim, the rest is relatively bloodless, there is one very horror heavy scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29862426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: “Echo!”The voice is frantic. Edged with fear. It stirs something familiar deep inside her, but she can’t quite put her finger on why.“Murphy?” The name leaves her lips instinctively and then she blinks and frowns at herself because she can’t quite remember who Murphy is.//Or the Echophy Horror/Summer Camp AU/Amnesia AU/Tragic Romance/Magic Tattoos AU that absolutely nobody asked for.Written for the Troped Madness 2021 Qualifying Round.
Relationships: Echo/John Murphy (The 100)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: TROPED: Madness 2.0





	A Strange Arrangement of Days

Echo wakes up with a violent heave of her chest and a painful clench of every muscle in her body. Her back is cold, pressed into a layer of mud and dead leaves. The rest of her is unseasonably warm, even with her shoulders bare, the edges of her blue sleeveless top rustling softly against her skin with each breath. Overhead the sky is a faint powdery blue, just shifting into the slate grey of an autumn midmorning. Dead tree limbs crisscross like a broken spider web far above and she traces the lines absently with her gaze for a moment before the movement of her eyes gives her a faint headache. Her right arm throbs in pain.

“Ow.”

“Echo!”

The voice is frantic. Edged with fear. It stirs something familiar deep inside her, but she can’t quite put her finger on why.

“Murphy?” The name leaves her lips instinctively and then she blinks and frowns at herself because she can’t quite remember who Murphy is.

He hovers into view before she can pursue the train of thought, ashy brown hair flopping a little longer at the crown of his head than on the sides, lips pursed with something she thinks is poorly hidden worry.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Echo groans and holds up her right forearm, expecting to find some kind of cut or bruise. Instead, she finds a blob of black ink. She blinks in consternation and the shape becomes clearer, a stark rendition of a spider, thick black legs reaching out like twisted veins along the inside of her arm.

“What the hell?!”

“Echo, I’m… I’m so sorry.”

She stares at the tattoo and then up at Murphy and then back at the tattoo.

“Echo, please if there was anyway to fix this you know I would-”

“I don’t know what’s going on.”

Her words stop him midsentence and he gapes at her. “You… what?”

She drops her arm back into the leaves beside her with a crackle. “I. Don’t know. What’s going on.”

“You mean you don’t… remember?”

She narrows her eyes into a glare and he holds out his palms placatingly. “Okay, okay! Um… What’s the last thing you  _ do _ remember?”

She closes her eyes, trying to focus past the overwhelming sensations of pain and heat coursing through her body. 

“I remember you. I think.”

Murphy snorts. “Well, it’s not like I’m someone you’d forget easily.”

She has a feeling that if she remembered exactly who he was, she’d kick him for that. Instead she takes another deep breath through her nose.

“We’re counselors together. Here at Camp Jaha. Right?”

“Right…” He sounds more than a little skeptical and it grates on Echo’s nerves.

“It’s… staff training week?”

A beat.

“I can’t remember anything else.”

“Seriously?!”

Her eyes fly open as she sits up, leaves clinging to her loose hair. “Well, I’m sorry if that’s not good enough for you! I’m not too keen on waking up lying in the middle of the woods either!”

Murphy’s face relaxes a little and he rubs his arm thoughtfully. “Okay, fair.”

“So… are you going to help me up?”

He smirks at her and backs away a few steps. “I think you can handle yourself.”

Now she definitely knows she should kick him.

Echo groans and hauls herself to her feet, shaking more leaves and cold loam from her arms. A vague recollection of putting on her faded letter jacket and braiding her hair back from her face floats just at the edges of her mind. She rubs her fingertips lightly along her bare arm and then down to the pulsing tattoo. Her long hair brushes the corner of her lips and her cheekbone as she leans forward.

“Okay, spill. What happened?”

Murphy shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and gives her a miniscule shrug. “Wild night?”

She scoffs. “Can’t be any more specific than that? Like… where did my coat go? Where did I get a  _ fucking tattoo _ from?”

The corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly and she sees a glimpse of something like pain in his glance. Then the look vanishes and he’s tilting his head towards her with a smug grin. “Like I said… wild night.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but he’s already turning away. “Come on. If we head back now, we’ll get back to camp around lunch time. I’m already starving.”

“Back to camp?”

“Well, yeah! Where else are we going to grab food?” He’s already setting a brisk pace through the forest, even with no path to follow. 

Echo sways for a moment, torn between her confusion and anger. But when she searches her memories for any other clues, she comes up empty. So she grits her teeth and marches after Murphy.

  
  
  


The camp buildings are familiar, much like Murphy himself, but it’s like looking at the memories of a vague dream. Every time she grasps at them too hard, they vanish back into the darkest recesses of her mind. It’s frustrating beyond belief.

“Doing okay?” She looks up and realizes that not only is she clenching her fists so tightly that she can see her knuckles turning white, but Murphy is waiting for her a few steps ahead, face lined with concern.

She matches his gaze for a second, expecting him to follow up with a sarcastic remark, but he only furrows his brow slightly. She notices the way his hand moves from his pocket, almost as if he’s about to reach out to her. Then he spins on his heel and uses it to push open the door to the mess hall instead.

“Kitchen should be clear!” he calls over his shoulder.

Echo can’t help but feel apprehensive as she follows Murphy through the empty mess hall. Fleeting images of the round tables being crowded with young campers come to mind, but she’s not sure if they’re memories or just a general idea of what a camp mess hall should look like. Murphy’s hiking boots send loud thunking echoes up and down the building. Every reverberation mirrors a soft shiver down Echo’s spine and she hurries to catch up with him.

The kitchen is indeed empty, almost ominously so. As Murphy starts rummaging through the industrial sized refrigerator, Echo’s gaze is drawn to the sink full of dirty dishes and stagnant dishwater.

“Where is everyone?”

Murphy turns around with a piece of bread in one hand and a mayo covered knife in the other. “Huh?”

She crosses her arms. “Where is everyone? This is a camp right? Staff training week? Where are all the staff?”

“Umm… sleeping?”   
She blows out a long, exasperated sigh between her teeth. “What are you hiding?”

Murphy slaps another piece of bread down to complete his sandwich and then stares at it for two long seconds. “Can you just trust me? Just until the end of the day? Then everything will make sense.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Nothing makes sense! Why can’t I remember anything?”

“I don’t know!” He lays the dirty knife down and massages one of his temples. “If I knew, I would try to fix it, but… can we just have today? With no questions? Please?”

Pleading. With an edge of fear again.

Her arm throbs and she winces. “Can we at least find some painkillers?”

Murphy’s gaze travels down to her tattoo and then back up to her face again. He flashes a wan smile and pushes a sandwich across the countertop towards her. “I think we can manage that.”

  
  
  


He doesn’t let her go into any of the other buildings, but the longer the day goes on, the harder it is for Echo to think clearly, so she doesn’t push it. He finds painkillers in the nurse’s office and pockets the entire bottle, tossing her a few every hour or so. She’s pretty sure he’s not giving her the correct dosage, but the pain is only getting worse so she’s not complaining. 

“Maybe we should call 911,” she mutters in the late afternoon as they sit perched on the end of the dock, watching the choppy waves roll in with the tide.

“Phone lines are down.” He gives her an odd look and then sighs. “There was a… storm last night. I think Counselor Kane got word over the radio that it would be a few days before they got a crew all the way out here to get the lines working again.”

Echo draws her knees up to her chest. “Figures.” She twists her arm slightly to look at the strange ink again. She’s sure it’s her imagination, but the legs look like they’re growing longer, slithering along the lines of her veins.

“Murphy?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I going to be okay?”

He laughs a short, barking laugh that seems normal enough for him. “Of course. What kind of a stupid question is that?”

The silvery waves flick off the ends of her boots and she rocks back on her heels a little to watch the tiny droplets course down onto the damp wood.

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

  
  
  


Stars are pricking through the velvety night sky when Murphy starts a fire. The distant howl of coyotes drifts on the breeze and Echo lets herself relax into the unknown familiarity of it. She’s given up trying to place the memories, her brain filled with a dense fog.

Murphy drapes a blanket over her shoulders and she nearly shrugs it off, already sweating from her invisible heat source.

“Thanks,” she mutters instead.

He seats himself on the opposite side of the fire pit, so that his face is largely obscured by the flickering flames. He roasts them both hotdogs and then pulls out supplies for s’mores which actually makes her laugh a little. The night creeps in closer around them until there are only the two of them and the small ring of light from their fire, drifting in a vast abyss of darkness. Even the stars seem to vanish one by one and Echo holds her breath watching them go, like little candles being snuffed out.

“Hey, you still with me?” Murphy’s voice is distant, but still recognizable so she nods heavily. Everything feels heavy now that she’s thinking about it. Heavy and too warm.

She lets the blanket fall from her shoulders and blinks down at her arm, now almost pitch black with writhing tentacles of darkness. They’re crawling up past her shoulder and across her chest. She can feel them now, like silky cords, pulling too tight.

“Murphy?”

“It’s all going to be okay now.”

She falls forward with a thump, her temple hitting the dirt just short of the fire. Everything feels like it’s on fire already.

The darkness grows, fighting with the light around the edges of her vision.

“I’m so sorry, Echo. So, so sorry.”

It swallows her whole.

  
  
  


Echo wakes up with a harsh gasp that tears at the walls of her chest and a sharp tenseness in every muscle in her body. Her back is cold, pressed into a mixture of earth and fallen leaves. The rest of her is unseasonably warm, even with her arms bared, the edges of her blue sleeveless top brushing gently over her skin with every breath. The sky is the softest hint of blue, just darkening into the dull grey of an autumn midmorning. Bare tree branches crisscross like a broken spider web far above and she traces the lines absently with her gaze for a moment before the movement of her eyes triggers a headache. Her right arm throbs painfully.

“Ow.”

“Echo?”

The voice is confused. Bordering on panicked. It stirs something familiar deep inside her, but she can’t quite put her finger on why.

“Murphy?” The name leaves her lips instinctively and she blinks in surprise. She knows a Murphy, right?

He crowds her view, shaggy fringe of brown hair hanging a little long over his forehead, face creased with horror.

“What the fuck?! What the actual fuck?!”

Echo groans and gingerly raises her right forearm, expecting to find a cut or maybe a bruise. Instead, the stark, black image of a spider stares back at her, inky legs twisting out from its bulbous body like some kind of grotesque veins. 

“What the hell?!”

“Echo… Oh god, this can’t be happening!”

She looks up at Murphy and then back at the tattoo. Tries not to panic.

“This… this is ridiculous. This can’t seriously be happening to us!” Murphy is pacing back and forth now, fingers twitching at the ends of his jacket sleeves. Dry leaves crackling under his heavy hiking boots. “If I had known yesterday… oh god, I’m so sorry-”

“I don’t know what’s going on.”

Murphy spins to face her so suddenly he nearly falls over.“You… what?”

Echo drops her arm back into the leaves beside her with a soft crunch. “I. Don’t know. What’s going on.”

“You... you don’t… remember?”

She glares at him, but he doesn’t waver. “Echo... What’s the last thing you  _ do  _ remember?”

She closes her eyes, trying to focus through the pain and heat pulsing through her muscles. 

“I remember you. I think.”

“Think harder.”

She has a feeling that if she remembered exactly who he was, she’d give him a good kick. Instead she inhales slowly and purposefully through her nose.

“We’re counselors together. Here at Camp Jaha. Right?”

“Yes...” The barely concealed strain in his voice grates on Echo’s nerves.

“It’s… staff training week?”

A beat.

“I can’t remember anything else.”

“Oh god...”

She opens her eyes as she sits bolt upright, leaves hanging from the dried ends of her hair. “Well, I’m sorry if that’s not good enough for you! I’m not too keen on waking up lying in the middle of the woods either!”

Murphy’s face is white as a sheet as he backs up a step. “I.. um… I need to go.”

“Wait… are you going to help me up?”

He backs away another step. “I think you can handle yourself.” Then he turns and runs into the trees.

Now she definitely knows she should kick him.

Echo groans and shakily gets to her feet, brushing the rest of the dead leaves and clumped mud from her arms. A faint memory of slipping into her letterman jack and braiding back her long hair skims the edge of her mind. Taunting her. She runs her hand along her arm down to the odd tattoo and lets her touch linger. Her loose hair dances against the side of her neck in the breeze.

She’s not going to find any answers standing here alone in the forest, that’s for sure. So she sets her jaw determinedly and starts walking in the same direction Murphy took.

  
  
  


The buildings of Camp Jaha are familiar in a way, but it’s like looking at memories from a home video of a dim childhood. Every time she tries to pull them into the light, they slip away completely, leaving her beyond frustrated.

She stops just outside of the girls’ cabin and tilts her head to look down at herself. Her sleeveless sports a deep v-neck, enough to show just a hint of her black sports bra. She frowns at the attire and wonders why she wasn’t written up for not following dress code.

The phantom feel of her jacket sleeves on her arms comes to mind and she shakes her head. That would make more sense, but then why did she take it off at some point?

She glances down at the tattoo and wonders if the ropy legs are slightly longer now or if that’s just her imagination. It burns against her skin and she winces.

Maybe she wasn’t out there in the woods by choice. The thought makes her head spin even more and she suddenly realizes that she’s clenching her fists so tightly that her nails are cutting into her palms.

This is too much for her to handle alone.

Echo feels more than a little apprehensive as she approaches the main cabin. The family room looks normal enough; saggy couches and well-plumped pillows scattered here and there for counselors to make themselves at home during their downtimes. Counselor Kane is a stickler for rules, but also a stickler for making his counselors feel as comfortable as their campers. Her boots sound overly loud as they thump across the colorful braided rugs. Every reverberation sends a creeping shiver up Echo’s spine and she hurries through the room to get to Kane’s office.

“Counselor Kane?”

The door is slightly ajar, which isn’t unusual. She doesn’t think anyways.

“Counselor Kane?”

She raps gently on the door and it swings inward fractionally at her touch. The squeak of the hinges sends another shudder through her bones and for some reason she almost turns around and runs.

Then her arm sends another wave of gut-wrenching pain through her body and she summons her courage and steps through the door.

“Sir, I just need to talk to you about something confidential if I-”

The words keep pouring from her mouth a split second after her brain registers what she’s looking at. Marcus Kane leans back in his office chair, head tilted at a crazy angle due to the deep gash across his throat. Eyes glazed over in death.

Echo blinks at him. Then blinks again. Half expecting the whole thing to vanish before her eyes as she wakes up from a nightmare.

He doesn’t vanish.

The buzzing of a single fly breaks through the silence and Echo watches in a daze as it lands on Kane’s face and crawls along his upper lip. Blood stains the front of his bright white Camp Jaha t-shirt.

“Oh…”

She stumbles backwards from the office. She has half of an idea that she should be running to the bathroom, but before she can process why she retches right there in the hallway, all over one of Kane’s beautiful braided rugs.

Echo shakes as her knees hit the floor. “Fuck, fuck, fuck...”

She needs to run. She needs to hide. She needs…

A phone.

She can’t bring herself to walk back into Kane’s office, no matter how hard she tries, so she staggers down the hallway to the family room. The freshly washed window panes stare impassively at her as she shakily dials 911.

An empty tone drones over the line.

“No.”

She hangs up and dials again. 

“No. No.”

Again.

“Fuck! No!”

She slams the phone against the wall so hard that it bounces off the receiver and dangles from the cord.

She remembers reading somewhere that fear makes you stupid. She _ feels  _ stupid as she sinks numbly onto one of the couches. Her arm throbs and she whines as she scratches at it. The spider legs are definitely longer, twisting and turning around her pale forearm. She whimpers and curls her legs up against her chest.

The afternoon light slowly creeps through the windows, painting longer and broader shadows across the empty room. Echo focuses on breathing, pushing long breaths out and sucking shallow ones in. It doesn’t help, her panic only growing as the hours pass. She’s utterly frozen, merely waiting for the killer to come back and take her too. 

She thinks several hours later that maybe Kane killed himself. Maybe she needs to go find Clarke, the camp nurse, so that they can examine him.

Then she imagines walking back into that office, with that body sitting there  _ waiting _ for her, cold blood caked across the cheery Camp Jaha logo. She presses her fist to her lips to hold back tears and she doesn’t move.

The room grows dark and Echo wishes she’d sat down with her back to a wall, the empty doorways and dark windows each promising some new imagined intruder. Her brain is clouded and she gives up trying to fight off the fog. A bead of sweat runs down the end of her nose. The couch cushions are drenched in her sweat, heat radiating from her body in waves.

The darkness presses closer, a solid blanket choking her off from the world. Not a glimmer of light can be seen through the windows and Echo strains her eyes against the pitch black in vain.

She feels heavy, so heavy. Something is crawling up her arm, slowly wrapping around her chest. Constricting tighter and tighter so that her breathing stops entirely.

The night closes in, suffocating her with heat. Solid darkness, thick enough she can feel it on her skin like ink.

It swallows her whole.

  
  
  


Echo wakes up with a rough jerk of her lungs and a violent spasm running through every muscle in her body. Her back is freezing, pressed deep into a layer of mud and leaves. The rest of her body is unseasonably warm, even with her arms uncovered, the soft fabric of her blue sleeveless top just visible at the edge of her vision. The sky is a pale blue, just fading to the ashen grey of an autumn midmorning. Bare branches crisscross like a broken spider web overhead and the sight gives her a pang of nausea. Her right arm aches with a deep, sickening pain.

She whimpers like a child.

“Echo?”

The voice is tired. Coated with softness. It stirs something familiar deep inside her, but she can’t quite put her finger on why.

“Murphy?” The name leaves her lips instinctively and then she frowns at herself because… Murphy. She knows that name.

He leans over her before she can think any harder, gaze traveling up and down her face. Like he’s searching her for something. 

“I’m… I’m right here.”

Echo wets her dry lips and shakily lifts her right forearm, expecting to find a cut or a bruise. Instead, a dark inky splotch greets her eyes. She blinks at it and it wavers slightly in her vision before sharpening into a monstrous spider, complete with long twisty legs that cover more than half her forearm.

The sight momentarily takes her breath away, choking her with terror.

“Echo?”

She tears her stare away from the tattoo and looks up at Murphy. His eyes are almost soft as he crouches over her. Hands hovering inches away from her arm.

“Echo, I know you don’t know what’s going on. But I’m here.”

Echo looks back at her arm and then slowly lowers it to the ground. She tips her chin back and stares at the sky. “I don’t… remember.”

“I know.” He shifts a little and she swears that he’s physically holding himself back from touching her. “Can you tell me what the last thing you  _ do _ remember is?”

She lets her eyelids flutter shut, trying to focus past the unnatural pain and heat. The overwhelming sensation of darkness crawling along her skin.

Her eyes flicker open and she breathes. Still in the light.

Murphy leans a little closer.

“I remember… you?”

Murphy snorts, gently. “Off to a good start. Maybe if you-”

“You left me alone.”

Only the breeze cuts through their silence. Echo’s breath shakes.

“I don’t remember anything else, but I just remember being… so alone.”

“I’m so sorry-”

She pushes herself up so fast that he has to dodge backwards to keep her from headbutting him square in the face. She digs her fingers into the dirt, anchoring her in place. Staring him down.

“Don’t leave me again. Ever again.”

He raises an eyebrow and she flexes her fingertips, mud seeping under her nails.

“Please.”

A faint smile. “Okay. Never again. I promise.”

  
  
  


The camp buildings are familiar and threatening. Echo’s chest tightens with every step. Her gaze lands on the main cabin and she stops in her tracks, visions of corpses and flies crawling through blood flashing through her mind.

“Hey!” Murphy is standing a few feet away, arms outstretched. Still not touching her. “Are you okay?” She looks down and realizes she’s clenching her fists so tight that she can see the blue veins standing out along the backs of her hands. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to relax a little.

“The buildings are…” She struggles over words for a second, not sure how to explain the flashes of untrustworthy memories. “Bad.”

It sounds lame falling from her mouth, but Murphy simply nods in agreement. “The buildings are bad,” he repeats and then he turns and walks into the mess hall. She’s not sure why her trust in him overrides her fear, but she follows him into the building.

The kitchen is empty, save for the sink full of dirty dishes and stagnant dishwater. Echo tentatively scans the room, every hair standing on end.

“Where is everyone?”

Murphy turns around with a piece of bread in one hand and a jelly covered knife in the other. “Do you really want to know?”

She crosses her arms defensively, cradling herself. “I don’t know.” Her voice sounds small. Broken.

Murphy hums under his breath as he finishes making his sandwich and then sets the dirty knife down. “Do you trust me?”

She shouldn’t. She barely knows him.

“Yes.”

He takes a deep breath. “They’re all dead.”

Somehow she knows, but it still sends a pang of terror through her gut.

“What happened?”

His eyes are tired. Rounded with softness.

“We released a demon.”

Her arm throbs and she winces, afraid to look down at the coiling ink wrapping itself around her arm. “And…?”

Murphy’s gaze travels down to her tattoo and then back up to her face again. “It killed people. We thought we could stop it. Trap it, so to speak. With that.”

The tattoo burns. Like the burning of hellfire. Echo bites her lip. “Did it work?”

“Sure, did.” Murphy flashes a wan smile and pushes a sandwich across the countertop towards her. “But it only gives you twenty-four hours to live.”

  
  
  


They perch on the end of the dock, watching the waves glide in like broken glass. Echo tilts her head to watch Murphy. His chin is tipped back, eyes closed, breeze ruffling through his hair.

Peaceful.

“You said, the day is looping?”

“Mmhmm.”

She gnaws at the inside of her lip, fingers running up and down her bare arms.

“But I don’t remember?”

“Yeah. Whatever happened when we sealed that demon in the tattoo, it knocked you out cold and then… no memories.”

She shudders at the reminder, the feeling of spidery legs crawling up her arm ever present.

“How many times have you had to tell me this?”

He actually opens his eyes and looks a little startled.

She waits.

Murphy sighs. “Does it matter?”

She thinks about it. Thinks about how this might be the first time or the hundredth time. How she has no way of knowing. How Murphy has the worse part, knowing every time. Forever.

She draws her knees up to her chest. “No.”

The silence stretches between them and she wonders what he would do if she reached over and took his hand. Wonders if he would rather be alone.

“Murphy?”

“Hmm?”

“Are we going to be okay?”

He laughs a short, barking laugh. Totally fake. “Of course. What kind of a stupid question is that?”

The drab waves flick at the toes of her boots and she watches the droplets slide onto the damp wood.

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

  
  
  


The stars are soft and distant when Murphy starts the fire. The gentle barking of coyotes forces Echo to relax, her foggy brain sinking into the instinctive familiarity.

Murphy wraps a blanket around her shoulders and even though her skin is burning she has to fight the urge to lean into him.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

They nibble at hotdogs and graham crackers as the night draws closer in an ever tightening circle, extinguishing the stars one by one.

“You still with me?” Murphy mutters and Echo hums in agreement. She feels so heavy. Her body is part of the night, unable to break free.

“Murphy?”

“Yeah?”

“Will I see you in the morning?”

She hears the way his breath catches faintly in his throat before he whispers back, “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Then she’s gone.

  
  
  


Her back is cold. The sky is a glassy blue, quickly turning grey. Her right arm hurts.

She’s crying, warm tears sliding down her cheeks into the mud.

“Echo.”

The voice is quiet. Reassuring. It stirs something familiar deep inside her. She struggles to put her finger on why.

“Murphy.” The name leaves her lips instinctively.

He leans over her. Eyes clear and focused. Promising.

“I’m right here.”

  
  
  


The kitchen sink is full of dirty dishes and stinking dishwater. Echo fiddles with a stiff dishrag, wondering if she should just grab a sponge and start scrubbing.

“Why won’t you touch me?”

Murphy spins around, a piece of bread in one hand and a mustard covered knife in the other. “Do you really want to know?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, feeling strangely vulnerable. “I don’t know.”

Murphy fiddles with the dirty knife. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” The words are barely out of his mouth before she answers.

Her fast response makes him smile. 

Then he inches up his right jacket sleeve. Rolling it up ever so slowly. Until Echo can see, peeking out from beneath the faded leather, a grotesque spider, inky legs like veins twisting up and down his pale skin.

She takes a sharp breath and looks up at him. He stares back calmly.

“We split the demon in two. Half for you-” He slides the sleeve back down, hiding the horrible marking from view. “-half for me. If we put Humpty Demon together again… well, you get the idea?”

“But how…?”

He smiles at her again. Quiet. Reassuring.

“I don’t know. I think we’re special.”

“Special.” The word feels hollow.

Murphy pushes her a sandwich. “I know at least one of us is.”

  
  
  


The waves crash in little peaks against the dock, spray wetting the tips of their boots.

“Murphy?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to be okay?”

He laughs, sharp and sad. “Probably not.”

  
  
  


The stars dance quietly above. Murphy lays a blanket around her shoulders and Echo presses it to her cheek and imagines she can still feel the warmth of his hand on the fleece. Her stomach is tied in knots as the stars go out.

“You still with me?” Murphy whispers.

“Always.”

Her lungs constrict. Vision darkens.

“Will I see you in the morning?”

His breathing catches for a fraction of a second. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

  
  
  


Her arm hurts.

“Echo.”

The voice is warm. A promise that stirs something familiar deep inside her.

“Murphy.” The name leaves her lips instinctively.

His face comes into view.

“I’m right here.”

She has a feeling that if she remembered exactly who he was, she’d kiss him.

  
  
  


The waves roll in, foaming tops looking like rabbits jumping through the water. Echo splays her hand against the damp wood and Murphy leans his hand behind hers. Fingers so close that she can feel the tiny hairs along the back of her hand stand on end.

Always so close.

“Murphy?”

“Hmm?”

“We’re going to be okay.”

He blinks out at the water, eyes reflecting the churning sea.

Then he laughs, soft and warm and always a little sad. “Maybe.”

  
  
  


The stars are dancing. Echo swears she can see them waltzing and twirling. Murphy teases her, but it’s fond. Special.

He lays a blanket on the ground and they lay down side by side, shoulders almost brushing with every breath. The stars begin to blink out, one by one.

“You still with me?” Murphy whispers.

She rolls away from the stars so that she’s facing him. So that she can feel the puff of his breath against her nose. “Always.”

The darkness tightens, but she can still see him; his eyes burning brighter than any hellfire.

“Will I see you in the morning?”

His breath catches. His exhale tickles her lips. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Down to the Sea" by Elephant Revival.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this hot mess! I definitely had fun writing it, so cheers to that! Make sure to check out all the other Troped fics and leave kudos and comments for all our lovely writers!


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